Blonde Ambition - Short Affair
Nov. 7th, 2016 05:18 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
glennagirl.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
section7mfuPrompts - Veil, Silver
Word count: 541
The woman was shrouded in a black veil that seemed overly dramatic for the occasion she was attending. It wasn't a funeral. Well, it was a funeral, but no one was actually dead, which made her appearance doubly dramatic.
The man by her side was older, or so it would have seemed to someone watching. His hair was a shade of silver normally seen on men twice his age, if one were to be privy to his identity.
Inside the ornate coffin was a younger man, blond and, beneath the make up, morbidly pale. He was doing everything he could to keep from scratching it off, but then the entire facade of his death would be ruined.
April Dancer was having trouble seeing from within her black cocoon of netting. Napoleon had thought it would be better for them to be disguised at this fake funeral for their friend and colleague. Making THRUSH believe that Illya was dead had been the brainchild of the Russian, a ruse to draw out the ones who had tried to assassinate him as he emerged from UNCLE Headquarters. It was learned that they were in league with some rogue KGB agents who had targeted Kuryakin; nothing new there, he was frequently on the list of someone's sense of outrage. This time, however, he was hit by the shooter's bullet, and it made him mad. Thus was this funeral scene concocted as a means of exposing the men responsible. It wasn't a sure thing, but on the off chance that it might work, all involved had proceeded with the plan.
As April and Napoleon took their places among the 'mourners', all of whom were agents and employees of the Command, they were scanning the room for unfamiliar faces. Illya was enduring his part, hopeful that his partner would spot their targets quickly. He wished he could relax…
Soon enough a quartet of strangers entered the room, dressed for the occasion but obviously from a closet crammed full of dull, government approved suits. Immediately two Section III agents closed in behind them after a discreet nod from Napoleon alerted them to their presence and their guilt.
Two rogue KGB agents and one THRUSH with a grudge against the Russian were accompanied by the one person who could identify them with absolute confidence. She was also going to benefit from doing a turn as a double agent; the THRUSH chief who found himself in the custody of UNCLE had an intense dislike for Angelique LeChien, but that was no longer a problem for the woman whose sometimes lover was also the Northwest CEA. She didn't want UNCLE to win this war, but she also disliked the idea of losing ground to a fellow THRUSH whose intentions left her in danger of being 'retired' at an early age.
The blonde gave only a wink to Napoleon as she backed away from the men she was delivering to UNCLE. She glanced at the coffin and, for just a few seconds, wondered what life would be like if Kuryakin were actually in need of it… permanently.
While Illya lay in the satin interior of the bullet proof mahogany casket, he shuddered as a cold chill ran down his spine.
Word count: 541
The woman was shrouded in a black veil that seemed overly dramatic for the occasion she was attending. It wasn't a funeral. Well, it was a funeral, but no one was actually dead, which made her appearance doubly dramatic.
The man by her side was older, or so it would have seemed to someone watching. His hair was a shade of silver normally seen on men twice his age, if one were to be privy to his identity.
Inside the ornate coffin was a younger man, blond and, beneath the make up, morbidly pale. He was doing everything he could to keep from scratching it off, but then the entire facade of his death would be ruined.
April Dancer was having trouble seeing from within her black cocoon of netting. Napoleon had thought it would be better for them to be disguised at this fake funeral for their friend and colleague. Making THRUSH believe that Illya was dead had been the brainchild of the Russian, a ruse to draw out the ones who had tried to assassinate him as he emerged from UNCLE Headquarters. It was learned that they were in league with some rogue KGB agents who had targeted Kuryakin; nothing new there, he was frequently on the list of someone's sense of outrage. This time, however, he was hit by the shooter's bullet, and it made him mad. Thus was this funeral scene concocted as a means of exposing the men responsible. It wasn't a sure thing, but on the off chance that it might work, all involved had proceeded with the plan.
As April and Napoleon took their places among the 'mourners', all of whom were agents and employees of the Command, they were scanning the room for unfamiliar faces. Illya was enduring his part, hopeful that his partner would spot their targets quickly. He wished he could relax…
Soon enough a quartet of strangers entered the room, dressed for the occasion but obviously from a closet crammed full of dull, government approved suits. Immediately two Section III agents closed in behind them after a discreet nod from Napoleon alerted them to their presence and their guilt.
Two rogue KGB agents and one THRUSH with a grudge against the Russian were accompanied by the one person who could identify them with absolute confidence. She was also going to benefit from doing a turn as a double agent; the THRUSH chief who found himself in the custody of UNCLE had an intense dislike for Angelique LeChien, but that was no longer a problem for the woman whose sometimes lover was also the Northwest CEA. She didn't want UNCLE to win this war, but she also disliked the idea of losing ground to a fellow THRUSH whose intentions left her in danger of being 'retired' at an early age.
The blonde gave only a wink to Napoleon as she backed away from the men she was delivering to UNCLE. She glanced at the coffin and, for just a few seconds, wondered what life would be like if Kuryakin were actually in need of it… permanently.
While Illya lay in the satin interior of the bullet proof mahogany casket, he shuddered as a cold chill ran down his spine.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2016-11-08 10:59 am (UTC)Thanks for sharing it.